Paranoia
by Mindy35
Summary: KIBBS. PostTwilight. Gibbs was always paranoid about loosing his star.


Title: Paranoia

Author: MindyHarmon

Rating: K+.

Spoilers: "Bete Noir", "Reveille", "Pop Life", "Conspiracy Theory", "Red Cell", "SWAK" and "Twilight".

Summary: Post-"Twilight". Kibbs. Gibbs was always paranoid about loosing his star.

A/N: With thanks to Deescee.

* * *

It was not paranoia. It never had been paranoia.

He'd told himself over and over, comforted himself, convinced himself – it was simply paranoia that plagued him. Even Ducky had told him that he was over-reacting, that it was his subconscious running away with him, holding onto an injury. He'd told him that Kate was safe, that Kate was protected, that Kate was alive.

She wasn't.

He boards the elevator and pushes the button in a trance.

It never had been paranoia and he'd known it, deep down. The one time it had mattered most -- more than his own life -- he had not believed his gut. He had not wanted to.

He had not wanted to deal with a reality where she might really be in danger, she might not be protected, she might not…exist.

He hadn't listened to his gut -- and he hadn't saved her when he knows, he knows -- he could've. Should've.

The image of Kate Todd with a bullet in her brain had frequented his dreams for months after Ari Haswari had spirited her away, right out from under his nose. The discovery of a different woman in that nightmarish reality had not soothed his unconscious in the least; and it had kept reminding him, kept plaguing him with the vision long after he should've forgotten it.

In the mornings afterwards, he had always woken with a cold sweat on his brow and her name on his lips. But he had always dismissed the bete noir as simply his fears asserting themselves in his sleep, simply his hatred of the bastard that had endangered his safe place and his care for the young woman who was increasingly dominating his thoughts and dreams. And he refused to let either of them get to him.

But Kate had gotten to him in the end.

Somehow, in some way, she had injected herself into his being, making her very presence, her sweet essence absolutely essential to him. He had handed her the power without knowing it, without fighting it. She had won before he had even had a chance to defend himself. And once she was in, he had never wanted to.

He only had the dream about her dead eyes and blue face once after they were together. Only once.

The image never disappeared altogether – but the dream of riding down to Ducky's lab, of the look on the doctor's face, of opening that body bag and hearing his mind scream with rejection, with pain, with disbelief of the idea of a world without Kate Todd in it; he never experienced that while he had her sleeping beside him, while he could hold her in his arms and keep her safe, while he lay close enough to her to monitor her every breath.

Part of him thought that it was an excellent solution. She'd never know that what she was essentially taking on when she took him on, was not just a lover, but a full-time bodyguard.

He would never let anything happen to her, he'd vowed. He'd check all the doors and windows before they went to bed; he'd make sure that there was a gun beneath her pillow and his and that both were loaded. He'd keep her so close that Ari Haswari, or any other scumbag for that matter, would never get their dirty paws anywhere near his girl.

Yet now he thinks that the fact that Kate had become more than his agent, much more than his protégé and friend, had only made her more vulnerable.

The bastard must have seen it in his eyes, sensed it in his protectiveness when they'd met in that coffee shop; he must have found out somehow -- it wouldn't have been hard -- about him and Kate. And it had written her death sentence. Getting close to him had been, for her, a fatal mistake.

Almost from the very beginning, Kate had been an unseen presence, a reluctant participant, caught between him and Ari in their twisted little game; from the moment he faced the bastard across the morgue and asked where she was; from the moment he heard from Ducky how the nameless intruder had manipulated her, bullied her, how he'd spoken to her, how he'd touched her; from the moment when she admitted to him why she couldn't harm him. And from the moment he looked into her eyes and realized out loud that he was the type that needed to face death to feel alive, to feel anything.

He had loathed discovering any similarity at all between the two of them, but, as he stared at her, he couldn't help wondering morbidly whether Caitlin Todd had made Ari Haswari feel alive -- feel _everything_ -- just the way she had for him?

It hadn't been a love of country or sense of duty that had lifted his gun and aimed at the other man's shoulder. It hadn't been pride that made him fire.

Ari had known it – it had been revenge, plain and simple; jealousy, dark and insidious; protectiveness, paranoid and powerful. It was Caitlin Todd that made him risk censure, dismissal and dishonor, though he'd never have confessed it at the time.

The elevator doors open, but he can't make himself move for an eternity. He stands inert and irresolute.

Looking back, his protectiveness had caused more than one rift between them. Kate had not liked it, had rebelled against it.

Not long into their relationship, they'd had an out-and-out fight after she meet with the young pop-star who she'd wanted to help. He'd been out of his mind with worry and had turned up at her apartment that night looking for a fight. He'd yelled at her and berated her and tried to make her promise never to do something like it again.

She'd flared up in response, accusing him of not being objective, not treating her with equality. She'd said he didn't have confidence in her as an agent, that she could handle these situations, that she did, in fact, handle it, and that she shouldn't be limited in her job simply because she was a woman and he was paranoid.

She'd called him overbearing and told him that as her boss, he had the right to give her orders, but that as her boyfriend, he most certainly didn't. At which point he'd stormed out without a further word.

He'd had the dream that night – Kate shot. Kate dead. Kate in the morgue, in a bodybag.

The next morning, he'd marched into work with one thing on his mind. If she would not heed his warnings as the man who cared about her, she damn well would as her boss.

Her eyes had been full of contrition and regret for what had passed between them the night before. He'd delivered the order nonetheless, for her safety and his peace of mind. She'd told him it would never happen again, to which he'd replied: "I know." He'd make sure of it, he'd added silently.

He remembers how they'd all been discussing the case and he had commented that 'Bulldog', was the paranoid type. Tony had remarked pointedly that it reminded him of someone and Gibbs had looked over in time to see him dart a look at Kate.

Kate had looked up briefly, her face still slightly red from her reprimand.

Tony had backtracked, shrugging and explaining: "I just mean…most managers are paranoid about loosing their stars."

Gibbs hadn't cared what the other man might suspect, he didn't care if he appeared paranoid or insane to DiNozzo, McGee, or even Kate herself. He could and would protect her -- nothing was more important.

His instincts had surfaced again when he and Kate had been shot at at another crime scene. He'd tackled her to the ground, and rolled on top of her, without a thought for his own safety. It had been a bit of an over-reaction, he admitted to himself; and in the car on the way back, she'd laughed at him; told him she'd have more bruises from him falling on top of her than from landing on the grass.

He'd taken her teasing in good humor, because he'd felt like he was winning the battle. Whatever forces his gut was convinced were destined to rob him of her, wouldn't succeed. With each bullet dodged, with each threat eliminated, with each day that passed, he felt more certain, more strong, more in control of the fear that sequestered itself away in the back of his mind. He was looking after her and would continue to until it was safe to let down that guard, if the time ever came.

That was the last time she'd made light of his concern though, for a few weeks later, he had been on the receiving end of a severe beating. Kate and Tony had been locked out while he engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a very mean Gunnery Sergeant, who had left him bruised and bleeding.

That night, she'd gravely seated him in his kitchen and proceeded to swathe each already-treated wound with an array of antiseptics and ointments. Her eyes had melted at the bruises that had darkened even in a few hours, her touch was infinitely tender and her lips on his raw skin had stirred his old and hard heart.

His scrape hadn't stopped her taking stupid risks though – like staying with the man she bickered with daily when he had contracted, of all things, the plague. He'd been so unbearably anxious about both Kate and Tony in that time, and had become furious when Ducky had told him what she had done.

It was so foolish, so headstrong, so…. so Kate. He'd channeled all his nervous energies into solving the case, so that he could bring his first two offspring home again, and when he had, his relief had only been outweighed by his aggravation.

He'd marched right in there and ordered Tony not to die, watched with pleased and focused satisfaction as the younger agent received, digested and understood the command.

In an instant, like a Svengali, he had made up Tony's mind for him.

Leaving the bedside of one agent, he strode out and right up to the other, where she was standing with Ducky. He'd picked her up and clasped her fiercely to his chest. She'd felt tiny and fragile in nothing but the blue pajamas, as her body hung limply in his arms, her feet dangling down around his knees. She'd folded her arms about his neck and clung to him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder. He'd closed his eyes as he held her for a moment, feeling her heart beat against him and her hot tears dissolve on his collar.

"You'll never – never – scare me like that again," he told her gruffly: "Never!"

Then he'd released her, filled with conflicting emotion, and tried to make her promise again. But all she'd said was that she wanted to stay with Tony that night; she wanted to sleep beside him, be there in case he woke up.

He'd quietly agreed that it was a good idea, because he really hadn't had much of a choice. It had been one of those questions that it didn't matter if he said no -- Kate did what Kate wanted to do. And he couldn't help but love her for it.

Finally, he forces his body to move, stepping out of the elevator into the darkened morgue of his bete noir, the doors slowly sealing him in forever.

The final, excruciating irony was that she'd been protecting him, she'd been in charge of his safety. Everyone had thought Ari was after him. He hadn't been much worried about it really. Putting himself in the firing line was something he was quite familiar and quite comfortable with.

Kate had carried out his protection detail with every ounce of her professional and personal commitment. And during the last minute of her life, _she _had been intent on saving _his_ sorry ass. He'll never forget that.

He'll never forget leaning over her with his heart thumping in panic, then hearing her groan and seeing her eyes open. He'll never forget her small hand on his chest as he helped her up; or how she'd looked at him like she loved him as he'd checked her over, fiddling with her vest to reassure himself of her safety.

He'll never forget that in the instant before her collapse she had been smiling, joking, happy, beautiful.

Evidently, that bastard understood that breaking a man's spirit, taking away what he holds most dear, depriving him of what he lives for, is far worse than death. It is the ultimate way to drive him insane, make him incompetent, make him redundant. And that is why Kate lies cold and dead in Ducky's morgue.

Because of him. Because of him and his failure to see what was happening. He'd been given a glance into the future, a chance to prevent it and he hadn't.

With a hand that trembles, he unzips the body bag, uncovering her completely, so he can see all of her.

All those days of protecting her from the wrong threats, keeping her alive just long enough to score a bullet in the brain. All those months when he could've been hunting down her murderer, before he got the chance. All those nights he'd had that devastating image in his mind and had done nothing, nothing, to stop it from becoming a reality.

He looks down at her pale face as he holds her hand for the last time. And he knows it wasn't paranoia.

He strokes her cold cheek and lays his palm over her stilled heart. It never had been paranoia.

Knowing it now, though, was of no real consequence. Knowing it now, was much, much too late.


End file.
